


The Hunt for Baby

by RockSaltandCherryPie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Road Trip, Summer Vibes, Weecest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 20:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11859012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockSaltandCherryPie/pseuds/RockSaltandCherryPie
Summary: The first time they lost the Impala... And how they got it back.





	The Hunt for Baby

**Author's Note:**

> So for no particular reason, I've got a [Winter fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2705981/chapters/6055691)... I've got a [Spring fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3596319/chapters/7932735).. I've got a [Fall fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2265282/chapters/4975785). Now it's time I had a summer one, right? I've been wanting to start this for a really long time actually. And right now I'm on vacation in Florida for three weeks and wanted something to keep me occupied on my time off. Hopefully I can keep this ball rolling!  
> Also, I haven't written in a really long time, so go easy on me!

They lost the Impala. Well, they didn’t lose it so much as they had it _taken away_ from them. Alright, alright, stolen. But it wasn’t their fault. Ok, it wasn’t _Dean’s_ fault. After all, Dean was the one in charge of the car, ever since Dad gave it to him just one short month ago. They were at a Blue Oyster Cult concert. One of the first ones on the East coast tour of 1996.  
Dean had been sceptical about the security of the parking lot to begin with, but Sammy practically dragged him the whole way to stage, assuring him the car would be fine. They never planned on staying long after the final song was through, after most of the fans had dispersed and diminished. But Sam was swaying back and forth and jumping up and down to every song and Dean was fuzzy from the beer and the other thing that he told Sam was “just a cigarette” and it really was the best time they’d both had in a really, really long time. By the end of the night, Sam was in a great mood. Dean rarely saw him wearing that hazy, dreamy little boy grin anymore. So around midnight, by the tents that were set up at the back, Dean let Sam slump against him as he ran his fingers through Sam’s sweaty tangled hair.  
_Thank you,_ was what Sam had whispered, right into Dean’s shirt, his words muffled against his chest. And as humid as the night had been, as sweaty and sticky as it was between them, a chill ran down Dean’s neck.  
And just like that. Dean let the Impala slip through his fingers. He was sure it was being broken into the instant Sam’s eyes met his, the moment Dean’s heart stopped in his chest. When Sam’s hesitant, pale green eyes dropped to Dean’s mouth. And Dean knew exactly what he was getting himself into. He was done for. But the second Sam’s soft little mouth touched his, he wasn’t sure he entirely cared.

When they had gotten to the parking lot, most of the cars had been cleared out. In other words, it wasn’t difficult to tell that there was a lack of a 1967 black Impala. It was kinda hard to miss when the lot was _full_. Dean started really freaking Sam out. I mean, it started with the shouting, then came the about-to-punch something fist-clenching, then the crouched over panicking. Sam tried to calm him down the best he could, it was probably somewhere close by, but Dean was in full-on rage mode, and proceeded to stomp his way to the other end of the lot, as if the culprit would be waiting around a corner for him. Sam followed close behind, but the attempt to uncover the thief and retrieve the stolen car was fruitless.

“What are we going to tell Dad?” Sam asked, once Dean had calmed down enough to take slower breaths again.  
“Nothing,” Dean snapped.  
Dad was away on a hunting trip with uncle Bobby two states over in Missouri. Some sort of vamp nest that Bobby caught wind of that required the best of the best in the hunting community, apparently. Dean had been more than eager to go with Dad when he heard the news, but of course, someone had to stay and take care of Sammy. Dad didn’t want him taking part in the riskier hunts just yet. After all, he was still a kid. Dean never questioned Dad’s authority.  
The car was Dad’s. One of his very firsts. At least it was his, until he handed it over to Dean earlier this year. It had always been Dean’s dream to own her, and one day Dad just handed him the keys and said “you’re old enough now. Take care of her.” And that was it. The gesture blew Dean’s mind. And for weeks after that there wasn’t a minute he and Sam didn’t spend driving, having a beer, eating (very carefully), and even sleeping in the car. It was like home.  
And now it was gone.  
Just like that.

So they filed a police report (but when did that ever end up working out?) and sat on a curb for what seemed like half the night with absolutely nowhere to go.  
Sam’s eyes were drifting shut of their own accord. He felt heavy and tired, and as opposed to just a few short hours earlier, he felt really low. Mostly because Dean hadn’t said anything for the last ninety-five minutes and Sam could tell what was going on inside his head. He’s usually pretty transparent when he’s upset. He was surely beating himself up in there, and Sam hated seeing him like that.  
“Dean?” His small voice cracked.  
He flinched, his eyes darting upward a little from where they were resting on the asphalt near his feet. His chin was probably going numb from where it was resting on the base of his palm.  
“Dean, it’s gonna be okay.” Sam’s voice was small in the vast darkness of the foreboding night. The sky was a huge open space with thousands of stars. The air was clear despite the almost suffocating humidity.  
Dean’s head jerked a little, offering Sam an appreciative glance, but said nothing.  
Sam took what he could get. He sighed, looking up at the stars and feeling the heaviness in his chest lift ever so slightly. His eyes started to droop again after a few minutes.  
“We sleeping out here?” Sam asked, exhaustion evident in his tone.  
After a solid breath, Dean finally stood. Sam looked up at him, but when he didn’t follow, Dean gave a jerk of his head.  
“C’mon, we’ll find a motel.” They were the first words out of Dean’s mouth since _it’s pointless,_ Sam recalled.

They walked side by side down a narrow strip of road. For the first mile or so the road dipped on either side, but gradually it became shrouded by trees. Tall ones, ones that looked pretty ominous to Sam in the almost-black night. Especially since they weren’t quite sure where they were going, or if there would even _be_ a motel when they got there. Wherever _there_ was.  
Sam kept glancing over at Dean to see if he had by some miracle regained a bit of his personality, but all he found was a stone-faced car-less zombie every time.  
“Dean?” Sam tried. They weren’t going to get anywhere if Dean stayed in Impala-loss shock for eternity. And still, Dean just looked away. That was it.  
“Dean!” This time he shouted so loud Dean actually jumped. It echoed in the still of the night, disturbing the silence surrounding them.  
“Jesus, Sam!” He was still angry. Sam actually feared he might start to take out his frustration on him if he pried any further, but he had no choice.  
“Look, I know this sucks. And I know you’re pissed. But if we’re gonna get the car back, we have to start thinking.” He watched Dean’s shoulders straighten as he walked, eyes forward, listening. “Right?”  
Dean stopped walking. Sam’s eyes never left him.  
“And what do you propose we do, Sherlock Holmes?” His words were clipped, forceful. He adjusted the heavy duffle bag on his shoulder, the only possession they currently owned. Luckily inside held a few basic necessities - a .45, some rock salt, a credit card and fresh underwear.  
“Well,” Sam started, and the word ended up drawing out a little longer than he wanted, with the realization that Sam actually hadn’t the slightest idea how to track down a stolen car. Dean usually called all the shots. A second ago Sam had felt certain and self-assured, and now words barely wanted to leave his mouth. To hell with _ideas_.  
“That’s what I thought,” and just like that, Dean had the upper hand again. As usual. “Keep walking, shorty.”  
Sam rolled his eyes but did as he said.  
After a few moments of listening to the heat bugs sing, Sam looked up. “‘Least I got you to talk.”  
Sam felt a nudge break his stride. He looked back and Dean was smiling. Almost. But it was better than nothing.

By the time they reached a clearing, Sam was surprised it was still dark out. His feet were throbbing, and he was basically dragging his too-skinny, aching legs. His body was shutting down. If they hadn’t seen that neon sign when they did, Sam was pretty sure he was just going to drop down on the side of the road.  
But civilization quickly took them into its sticky embrace and they took solace in the first _Vacancy_ sign they saw flashing in bright green letters.

The room was ugly. Plain, with discoloured walls and two small, barely there beds that almost touched the ground. Specks of insect droppings peppered the cracks of the floorboards, and one tiny TV the size of shoebox sat on top of a lone nightstand. Sam was scared to go to the bathroom. But still, his body told him to sleep and that is exactly what he and Dean instantly did. The room had a single oscillating fan in the corner that did nothing but blow around the dust and the shit. Still, Sam was grateful he was hot enough to not sleep under the covers.  
“Someday, Sammy,” Dean said from the other bed, voice raspy with impending sleep and muffled by his pillow. “Someday we’ll have the Ritz.”  
Sam let out a bitter sigh. _That’ll be the day._ “G’night, Dean.”  
Well, at least there was one thing Sam was almost happy about. Since the Impala was stolen, it was as though certain events from earlier in the day seemed to be forgotten. And for now… Sam was pretty sure he was okay with that.


End file.
